


Be a Mime!

by micehell



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-11
Updated: 2009-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a special kind of Valentine's celebration... and that's not just because of the two avatars in the bathroom sharing teacakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be a Mime!

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same world as [The VG Story That Shall Remain Nameless Forever](http://archiveofourown.org/works/484803), and also the [Untitled Birthday Fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/484508) (because apparently if I don't properly name the stories, they get sequels, damn it!), but while it's probably pretty necessary to have read the first one for this to make (sort of) sense, the second one is only necessary to explain the Lionel Richie comment. ;)

Curt had put out some tea cakes (store-bought, because they'd decided they should be edible) and put them in the bathroom. It was more of a bribe to stay out of sight than a Valentine's Day gift, but Cecil actually smiled (instead of smirked), and Jerry had been (mostly) willing to share nicely.

It did keep them somewhat quiet, so it worked better than the gin Arthur had left last time. Which should have been a good idea, putting the two avatars in a more tractable (and less likely to interfere at inopportune times) mood, but hadn't turned out as expected, what with the (loudly) repeated renditions of _Jerusalem_ and _Abide With Me_ , that only ended when Curt had sprayed them with a handy can of Scrubbing Bubbles. It had also turned out to be a bad idea when it led to some rather disturbing thoughts the next time Arthur watched a rugby match, and, even more importantly (at least according to Curt), the next time they had sex, too. After that Curt had outlawed all alcohol from the bathroom (unless it was coming back up), and all singing from anyone not named Curt.

But the tea cakes campaign seemed to be going swimmingly, in that there were no sounds coming from the bathroom except for the occasional argument over who had the bigger piece, which left Arthur free to focus on Curt, who was hovering over him on the bed, face drawn with burning desire, mouth wet and open in need.

Which, of course, meant that he was putting on, because Curt only trotted out the utterly wanton incubus look on stage or as a joke. Even as Arthur watched, appreciating the sight even knowing it was a fake, Curt started to laugh, the siren giving way to the imp. Arthur laughed with him, loving the sound every time he heard it, and knowing that the desire was always real, pressed hard against him, teasing him as it shook against him with that laugh.

Teasing only, because Curt had a plan, his materials laid out on plates around the bed, covered to keep their surprise. One by one Curt brought them out, Valentine's gifts to share. There were no tea cakes here. For Arthur, Curt had candy. Chalky hearts with joke messages ( _Be a mime!_ , _I lust u_ , _Kick me!_ ) pressed into Arthur's mouth on a kiss. Liquid chocolate finger-painted across Arthur's nipples, then slowly, so slowly licked off. A mouthful of Pop Rocks for Curt; snap, crackle, pop around Arthur's cock, the tiny stings juxtaposed against the sweetness of Curt's tongue on the head until Arthur couldn't help it but to come, mouth chalky, chest sticky, cock spent.

Arthur didn't tease, because he didn't have a plan. (His last one, while amusing in retrospect -- though if Curt told one more person that Arthur was a secret Lionel Richie admirer, Arthur was going to… well, do something drastic -- and while rewarding at the time, had been far too traumatic to go down that road anytime soon.) But he did have a lapful of Curt, still shaking with laughter, lips red and puffy from candy and pleasure, and the only emotional baggage in the bed with them right then was the horniness that Curt was still looking to Arthur to take care of. And he had a handful of Curt, thrusting into his tight grip, wordless with pleasure, face lost with it. 

They wound up tangled together on the bed; plates on the floor, chocolate on the sheets, a heart ( _I lust u_ ) stuck to Curt's cheek, and the sound of an escalating tea cake war coming from the bathroom. Curt laughed again, somewhat breathlessly, and pulled the heart off, reading the message. He ate it, grimacing at the taste. "I love you, but, God, those are bad. And fucking dry. Next year we're sticking with the chocolate." He got up off the bed, heading for the bathroom, but then turned back around and winked. "And the Pop Rocks. I guess if I'm going to get a drink to get the dry out of my mouth, it better not be soda, huh? Wouldn't want to pull a Mikey."

Then he was gone, the sound of his laughter (and his yelling at Cecil and Jerry to shut up) floating down the hall behind him. And Arthur lay in bed, repeating the words he'd so desperately wanted to hear over and over again in his head. He'd heard them before, of course, from the other Curt, the one he'd created out of his own fears, but never like this, easy and freely given. And truly meant.

Even as a more sober, if no less horrible round of _Jerusalem_ started from the bathroom, Arthur got up and followed after Curt. Life had never been so sweet.


End file.
